SSS-Ranked Awakening: I Can Only Summon Mythical Beasts - Chapter 470

Chapter 470: The Kingdom of Galandra Welcomes You
Booooom!

The explosion had barely echoes when the others spotted Damien and his summons crossing the plains with shocking speed. The ground behind them seemed to be caving in, sinking deeper.

The race against destruction lasted for about thirty seconds, Damien and his summons surviving the aftermath of the explosion.

The plains had grown unnervingly quiet in the aftermath of slaughter.

The wind carried only the rustle of ash and torn grass, nothing else. No fleeing demons. No battle cries. Just the steady rhythm of Damien’s footsteps as he and Fenrir emerged from the ravine’s edge.

Luton bounced along at his side, humming like it had swallowed a festival.

In truth, it had swallowed something much worse, but the warriors didn’t know that yet. None of them had any idea that this seemingly new addition was the reason for the death of all demons gone.

They stood in a loose circle on the blackened field, leaning on shattered spears and broken shields, watching Damien approach. Fear flickered first across their faces.

Some took involuntary steps back. One man lifted his blade defensively, though it trembled so badly he nearly dropped it.

Not because of Damien.

Because of the thing bobbing happily beside him.

“What in the heavens… is that?” someone muttered.

“It’s a slime—no, that’s not normal.”

“It’s a parasite. Gods, he’s being followed by a parasite!”

Even Commander Haldric, who had maintained composure throughout the entire fight, braced himself for the worst.

Damien didn’t slow.

He kept walking until he stood at the edge of their circle, the sun slanting behind him in streaks of fading gold. Fenrir padded calmly beside him, head high. Luton jiggled forward, stopping between Damien’s boots.

The warriors tensed, readying themselves.

Damien raised a brow.

“You all look like you’re preparing for round two.”

Haldric cleared his throat. “The… creature. Is it dangerous?”

“It’s mine,” Damien replied simply.

The slime spun in a full circle, then hopped once as if confirming it.

No one relaxed.

Haldric took a breath. “We assumed it was… some kind of corrupted entity.”

Damien’s lips twitched. “If it were corrupted, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Luton puffed proudly.

The tension around them slightly lessened.

One of the warriors, a young woman with half her armor melted and her face smeared with dried blood, peered closer.

“It listens to you?”

Damien glanced down as though he would rather demonstrate than answer. “Luton.”

The slime hopped.

“Release the potions you stored earlier.”

Luton opened up, stretching two meters in all directions.

A dozen glass vials tumbled out, shimmering with color. Some rolled across the ground, others bumped against boots or clinked to a stop in the dirt. The warriors blinked.

“…What is that?” someone whispered.

“Healing potions,” Damien said.

Silence.

Then disbelief.

Then a wave of stunned murmurs.

“Healing potions? That many?”

“Where did it…no, I don’t want to know.”

“Are they real?”

Damien picked one up, uncorked it, and handed it to a warrior whose left arm was barely hanging on.

“Drink. Slowly. You’ll find out soon enough if it’s real or not.”

The man gulped weakly, and the pain on his face softened. Light pulsed under his skin. The torn flesh began to stitch back together. His breathing steadied.

The others stared.

Haldric looked from the man’s healing wound to Damien. “These… came from the creature’s storage?”

“It has a spatial skill so it can store various things,” Damien said plainly. “It can’t hold living things, but potions work fine.”

More gasps. More disbelief. More awe.

He tossed the remaining vials to the nearest hands. “Distribute them. They won’t restore limbs or fix shattered bones, but they’ll keep you alive.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

Warriors scrambled to obey.

Within minutes, the battlefield had transformed from a graveyard of collapsed bodies to one filled with movement, wounds closing, breathing easing, despair replaced by cautious hope.

Those whose injuries were beyond what a potion could fix, broken ribs puncturing lungs, split femurs, crushed shoulders, were carried to Fenrir.

Five in total.

Fenrir knelt obediently, allowing them to climb onto its back one at a time. Even injured, the men touched the creature with reverence, awe, and a little fear. If the owner gave the commander for this beast to devour them, it surely would not hesitate to gobble them up.

“You sure it’s okay?” one whispered nervously.

“It won’t drop you,” Damien said. “It also wouldn’t eat you.”

Fenrir huffed, insulted.

The man shut up.

Haldric approached Damien once more, his boots crunching over dried demon ash. “We… owe you our lives, Sir…” Haldric’s expression told Damien that the man was trying to get his name.

“Name’s Damien.” Damien shrugged. “You were already fighting when I arrived.”

“And dying,” Haldric corrected.

“Still counts.”

Haldric exhaled, a breath filled with the weight of relief. “If there is anything we can do in return, anything at all, you need only ask.”

Damien nodded.

“There is something. Name of the kingdom.”

Haldric blinked at the simplicity of the request. “W-We are under the territory of Galandra. The Kingdom of Galandra.”

Damien nodded. “Good. I’ll need access.”

Haldric hesitated, then chuckled. He was tired, relieved, and still half-shocked. “After what you’ve done? If they don’t let you in, I’ll personally tear the gates off the hinges. I, Commander Haldric, swear on my very essence core.”

The warriors murmured in agreement.

‘Great! Another commander.’ Damien folded his arms. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Haldric waved his men to formation.

“Everyone! Gather your strength! We return home now!”

Weak cheers, more like groans, rose from the group.

Damien started walking, Luton bouncing at his heels, Fenrir following behind with the wounded on its back. Haldric and the others moved beside Damien, forming a loose escort line.

It was strange.

Only an hour ago, these men had been preparing to die.

Now, they walked upright. Some supported each other, others leaned on their spears, but they walked.

And every one of them constantly looked at Damien as if unsure whether he was real.

A young soldier swallowed loudly. He’d heard Damien reveal his name to their commander.

“Sir Damien… sir… if you hadn’t come—”

“I know,” Damien said without looking at him. “Focus on walking.”

The soldier nodded, lips pressed together.

Another warrior, older, his beard burned unevenly, stepped closer. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Practice.”

“…Practice?”

“Lots of it. On the brink of death.”

The man blinked. “…I’ll take your word for it.”

They trudged through the plains in a slow but steady procession, the air still thick with lingering heat from the earlier battle. Luton darted ahead occasionally to glare at demon ashes as if offended it couldn’t eat them.

A few warriors jumped each time the slime bounced near them.

Damien ignored it.

Fenrir moved silently behind them, careful with each step so the wounded wouldn’t jostle too much. Occasionally, one of the injured would groan in pain, and Fenrir would adjust its posture to stabilize them.

The warriors noticed.

“Even the beast cares,” someone whispered.

“It’s not a beast,” another muttered. “It’s… some kind of guardian.”

Damien didn’t correct them. ‘Let them think what they wanted.’

Eventually the kingdom walls came into view with massive stone fortifications rising tall enough to challenge even Delwig’s “insurmountable” walls. Torches lined the battlements. Soldiers patrolled the top, casting watchful glances over the plains.

Galandra was large.

Alive.

Not destroyed like Delwig.

Damien’s steps slowed unconsciously.

Good.

A city still standing meant resources. Maps. Information. Equipment. Supplies for his next journey. Everything he needed.

The warriors lifted their weapons in weak salutes as they neared the gate. The guards recognized them immediately, shouting in disbelief.

“They’re alive!”

“They returned!”

“Open the gates!”

The massive iron doors groaned as they swung outward. Healers rushed out first, carrying stretchers. Commanders followed. Families ran behind them, shouting names.

But their cheers faltered as they saw the strange figure leading the group.

Damien.

And the thing at his feet.

And the massive wolf carrying five half-dead warriors.

The atmosphere tightened instantly.

Haldric stepped forward before anyone could speak.

“Stand down! This man saved us all!”

Damien raised a hand. “No need for dramatic introductions.”

But the warriors behind him disagreed.

“He tore through the demons by himself!”

“He chased them for miles!”

“He fought like he wanted to kill the entire horde alone!”

“He saved our commander!”

The guards stiffened.

Damien sighed.

He really didn’t need the attention.

But Haldric stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“Whether you like it or not, these men will worship the ground you walk on. You saved their lives. Mine too.”

Damien didn’t answer.

He simply motioned to Fenrir.

“Get the wounded tended first.”

Fenrir lowered itself obediently, letting the healers take the injured away.

Murmurs echoed through the crowd.

“What kind of creature obeys commands like that…?”

“That slime—did it just nod?”

“He must be a tamer… a powerful one.”

Damien watched silently as the warriors were carried toward the infirmary halls.

Haldric turned to him after giving orders.

“Sir Damien,” he said. “After what you’ve done, there is no need to request entry.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“The Kingdom of Galandra welcomes you.”

Damien stepped through the gate.

Luton bounced proudly after him.

Fenrir padded at his back like a silent shadow.

The world inside smelled of food, life, and the breath of a city untouched by destruction.

Damien’s next destination began here.